


Banal Nadas

by badwolfmonica



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfmonica/pseuds/badwolfmonica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the stories in-between, where love is real and <i>nothing is inevitable. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Him

She is going to die.

Solas cradles her hand in his, brow furrowed in concentration. Her skin is hot with fever, her pulse is erratic, and the mark grows with each passing hour. As if drawing poison from a wound, he tries to leech some of the magic out, but the power contained within the mark is too strong for this to be of much significance. There is little more he can do to slow the inevitable. Should she awaken or not, the mark will consume her and she will die.

He’s amazed that she has survived this long. She – a mortal with no magical talent – physically entered the raw Fade. Neither her body nor soul should have been able to adjust to the transition between the worlds, but here she lies before him – weak and wounded, but _alive_.

It is… unexpected.  


* * *

  
There is hope yet.

Though the mark still grows, she is much more stable than the day before. Her breathing is even now, her fever nearly gone. Solas tells Cassandra that the elven woman may live long enough to wake up and give her the answers she so desperately seeks. She parts her lips as if to say something – to thank him or inquire further, he isn’t certain – but is immediately cut off by the slamming of the Chantry doors.

A woman in light armor sprints forward, eyes wide as she stumbles and falls at Cassandra’s feet.

“What is it?” She asks, helping the woman to her feet.

“Reports from the forward scouts, Lady Cassandra. Demons are falling from the sky, soldiers have gone missing.” The woman gasps for air, coughing as she replies, “Rifts… there are _more rifts_ and they are getting _closer._ ”

“I would like to study the nearest tear, if it is possible,” Solas offers, leaning on his staff. “If you’ll allow it.”

Cassandra eyes Solas suspiciously, but grants his request nonetheless. She tries to arrange for an escort, but is disappointed when she’s informed that there simply aren’t enough men for the task at hand.

“I think I can help you with that problem, Seeker.”  
  


* * *

  
An arrow hisses by Solas’s ear, slaying the last demon to descend from the rift.

A display from the arrogant dwarf, he thinks, but the arrow does not belong to Varric. The prisoner is alive and the mark on her hand is radiant, no doubt more powerful near the tear. She approaches it, puzzled and unsure of the mark’s reaction, but Solas detests wasting time. He grabs her wrist and hopes that his assumption is correct.

Ribbons of green light pour into the tear. The jutting emerald crystals of the rift shatter, disfiguring and deforming until it seals shut with a booming _crack_. Solas can feel the world around them settle, weaving together its new skin. A brazen statement from Varric sparks a petty quarrel between him and Cassandra, but the importance of their new knowledge washes over them. She may be able to close the Breach.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”


	2. Her

Helis will never understand humans.

This man – Roderick is his name – seems to be more concerned with finding a leader than he does with the immediate threat. Helis doesn’t know much about shemlen politics or culture, but she is certain that the giant hole in the sky that rains demons should be dealt with fairly soon.

Her stomach twists to knots and her palms sweat when he accuses her of being the cause of all this. She can plead innocence until her mouth runs dry, but this is _their_ world. Now, it’s a game of whom would people believe: a respected member of the Chantry, or an elven spy with a mark on her hand that matches the one in the sky?

The Breach yawns, and the stone shivers beneath their feet as a blast of energy hits the land. Helis can feel the mark spread, cracking her skin like chipped porcelain, and it _burns_. The humans argue circles around each other: mountain path or charge? Safety or speed? Direct or indirect? Which one will be worth the lives of all these men and women? Helis wishes they would hurry. If they don’t, all of Thedas will crumble for their indecisiveness.

“How do you think we should proceed?” Cassandra turns to Helis, a dissatisfied scowl carved into her face.

Helis feels the urge to both laugh hysterically and run away crying as her eyes go wide. She stares at the sharp-cheeked woman, unsure of what to say—she just had her in shackles not an hour ago. Is she being serious? “What, you want me to decide?”

“We cannot agree on our own,” she replies, as if this was only a bump in the road, a minor inconvenience.  

Helis examines the mark on her hand and realizes that the beats of her heart are numbered, each breath measured. She is already marked for death, as are the soldiers that die each second she wastes.  

“We charge.”  


* * *

  
What was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes is now nothing but tall spires of crystal and stone.

Green veins run through rock, and the crystals are the brightest red she’s ever seen; brighter than the blood of a fresh kill, or the sky at dusk. In the center of these magnificent colors is the rift—the first, the key, as the elven apostate explains—and just being near it charges the mark with electricity. Helis can feel sparks run up her arm, all eyes on her as she passes the soldiers.

And then there are voices… wait, is that hers? And is that _her_ with the _Divine_?

Helis quickly learns that Cassandra likes to ask questions, and she in turn discovers that Helis’s answer still remains the same. Sweat drips down the side of her face as she growls, “I don’t remember.” 

But one thing she does remember is how to fight—thankfully, that much is certain. When the rift opens, her arrows whistle straight and true to their target, and with the aid of the other archers the demon is riddled with arrows in its leg, its chest, its neck. With a bash of her shield and a twist of her blade, Cassandra sends the beast to its knees. The other soldiers take their chance to plunge their swords into the thick hide, and the demon cries out in pain one last time before it slumps forward and crashes to the ground.

The mark surges. Helis’s fingertips feel like fire and ice and electricity all at once. She repeats the motion she has become so familiar with and thrusts her hand to the sky, watching the green lights dance as the rift stutters and hisses before brightness burns her eyes and then—

Nothing.  


* * *

  
Helis has been asleep for _three days._

And when she opens the door, the people gather. They mutter to themselves, they trade conspiracies in hushed whispers – “the mark on her hand,” “the Breach!” “the Herald.” Within the Chantry, Cassandra, Leliana, and Roderick stand around a table in very much the same formation, doing the same thing the last time they were assembled – arguing. Judging by the accusatory outbursts from Roderick, the conversation remains the same as well, but Leliana twists Cassandra’s questions onto the Chancellor, who seems less than pleased. Helis, on the other hand, is quite pleased and admires the pointed words that poke and prod someone other than her.

“As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” It sounds final and firm, like the last blow from a blade, and Roderick storms out.

Thank the Creators, Helis thinks, but her gratitude is given too swiftly. She leans on the idea that she will be able to go back to her clan now that she’s done what they’ve asked of her, but with two short sentences, Cassandra may as well have kicked Helis in the chest.

“We must act now. With you at our side.” An order, not an offer.

“What would that mean?” Helis asks, ears pressed firmly to her skull. “Would I be able to return to my clan?”

Leliana and Cassandra exchange worried glances before Cassandra replies, “Not immediately, no.”

Helis lets out a sour giggle and presses her fingers to her lips, feeling the churning of her stomach and the ache in her chest grow stronger with each passing moment. Her eyes gloss over as she thinks of the promise she made to Vaneira, the promise of always coming back home.

_I’m sorry, sister, but_ _it’s their world and I have no choice._

 


	3. Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Feb 10, 2015

Helis wanders Haven cloaked in moonlight, enjoying the quiet of night.  

Many still remain awake, scouts and guards, but they speak in hushed whispers and pay her no mind as she passes by. They scurry around, torches in hand as they pass field notes to one another, discuss infiltration techniques, exchange stories from before… well, _everything_.

The cold bites at her cheeks and nose, but the fur-lined clothing she wears is keeping her relatively warm. At least this new armor is good for something. Not that anything is wrong with it – it fits well, and the tailoring is fine, but… it’s not her armor. Human armor has buckles and straps and so many layers that seem unnecessary. The leather is too rigid to move freely in, and the _boots!_ How does anyone move in them? They’re clunky, heavy, and laced so tightly that Helis can’t feel her feet anymore.

She finds a set of stone steps and sits, hurriedly unlacing the things. When she slips them off, she sighs with relief and spreads her toes, thankful for the freedom.

“Trouble sleeping?” A silvery voice drifts from behind her, and she turns to see the elf who calls himself ‘pride’ saunter down the steps she sits on. “The mark must make difficult.”

It isn’t the mark so much as it is the roof, Helis thinks. There are no stars for her to count. She lets out a quiet laugh because it’s such a childish notion, something she never thought she would miss, but she has learned that life is full of surprises.

A puff of white vapor escapes her lips as she gathers the boots in her arms and stands. “Solas, is it?”

“Yes.” He nods, a small smile on his face, and motions for them to make their way upwards. With nothing else to do, she follows, finding herself enjoying the company of another elf. It has been a while. “My apologies, I should have asked your name earlier.”

“Helis.”

“Helis,” Solas repeats her name as if rolling it around on his tongue, tasting it. “In my travels, I have found that the Dalish cling to one another tightly. It must be difficult to be away from your clan.”

“It is, but if I want to keep them safe…” She trails off, holding up her hand to show the dull light that dances within the crack in her palm.  

“Ah, yes,” he nods, tilting his head as he examines the mark. “Do you believe that your mark is divine?”

Helis snorts, flexing her hand a few times before answering, “No. It’s more likely to be some odd twist of fate or bad luck, like I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But no one knows what happened; people cling to whatever brings them hope.” Her jaw clenches, because the harder she tries to remember, the farther the wisp of a memory slips like smoke through her fingers. “If I’m right, if they’re right, what does it matter? All that matters is closing the Breach.” She notices the way he barely sways back, and the incremental raise of his eyebrows before he shifts and replants himself in the ground, still and steady. Helis takes another quick glance at her hand before she asks, “What about you?”

“Me?” Solas asks curtly.  

“Yes.” Her eyes narrow as her lips curve to a smirk. “Are you the only one allowed to ask questions?”

His brow furrows as he takes a moment to look at her. Shereturns his gaze with interest. “I suppose not, lethallan. What do you wish to know of me?”

“You seem to know a lot about all of this – the mark, the Breach.” She motions to her hand, then to the sky. “I’m just curious.”

“Both the Breach and the mark are connected to the Fade, although I do not know how. With my current knowledge I am able to hypothesize the effects your mark has on these rifts,” he replies, but he no longer falters. His stance remains strong, his shoulders broad and back straight. “I have dedicated my life to studying the Fade’s inhabitants and the memories it holds. Ruins, battlefields, valleys, and mountains all hold secrets that they pass only to me and the spirits that linger there. I hold a great wealth of knowledge that has benefited us thus far – you in particular.”

“And how did you learn to do this?” Helis watches every movement – every twitch, sway, breath. He is still.

“Practice.” He looks at the sky, watching as small specks of white fluff drift between them, and smiles. “Let us continue this conversation another time. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

Helis raises an eyebrow, but nods. “Another time then.”

“Goodnight, Helis.” Solas turns, walking to the small cabin they have assigned to him.

“Goodnight _,_ ” she mutters under her breath, watching a snowflake melt on her fingertip.   
  


* * *

  
As is the way of the world, nothing went to plan.

Helis knew the discussions with the Chantry weren’t going to be all tea and biscuits, but she certainly didn’t expect _that,_ and now there is another choice to make. She prays she isn’t the one to make it.

There is no use worrying about this yet, she thinks. Haven is four days away, which means there are four days she has to rest, to think, to be as close to home as she will be in a very long time. There will be no roof over her head, nothing to block her view of the gleaming infinity that is the night sky. The weather on their journey to Val Royeaux was not always predictable: snow storms in the mountains, downpour in the valleys, clouds in the hills – it was all non-stop, but tonight… tonight there are _stars._

_Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven._

Helis sits on a soft patch of dewy grass, five meters away from camp where everyone enjoys a good night’s sleep. She has given up on all attempts to find any constellations. Her sister was the one who found the pictures in the stars; Helis finds it much more relaxing to just count them. A cool breeze runs its fingers through her hair and she sighs, thinking of Vaneira. She wonders what she’s doing, and how badly she wishes she could’ve said goodbye properly. They’ve never been separated like this before.

“Ir abelas, sa’lin,” she mumbles, “I tried.”

With eyes closed, she holds her face in her hands. For all her fantasies of leaving, she never knew her heart could ache so strongly for home.

She looks up again and the stars are now blurred.

_Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine, Six—_

She stills. Her ears perk, but there is no hesitation when she strips the bow from her back, nocks an arrow, and unleashes it in the dark unknown of the forest. She fixes another arrow and waits. There is no response – no cry, no yell, no gurgling of a beast with an arrow through its throat.

“I will remember to be more careful when you are on watch.” Solas emerges from the shadows, hands up in surrender and body half bathed in moonlight. “Though, I should be glad that it is dark. Your aim is excellent otherwise.”

Helis lowers her bow at the sight of him and lets out a slow breath. Her heart is beating out of her chest. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I might find a place where the Veil is thinner and sleep there, but I’ve had no such luck.”

“A shame.” Returning the arrow to its quiver and the bow to her back, Helis takes her previous position on the ground.

“And you?” He plods towards her, hand wrapped loosely around his staff.

“I believe we’ve confirmed that I am keeping watch,” she replies, her back to him.

“Ah yes, I’ve forgotten that bandits often drop from the sky.” Solas smirks.

Helis turns to look at him, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Were you watching me?”

“Only for a moment. When you’re in the presence of others, you like to project an air of confidence: back straight as the arrows you shoot, chin high as you stroll about camp at Cassandra’s side.” He glances at his feet before continuing. “It is quite pleasing to see you at ease.”

“You should probably sleep now, Solas,” she suggests softly, observing the crack of light on her hand. “We leave early tomorrow.”

Solas considers this, measuring her up before he dips into a shallow bow. “Forgive me. I apologize if I’ve offended you in any way. I was only applauding you for recognizing the importance of it, and realizing that it is necessary to act appropriately to the title you have been given.” Standing straight again, he grins as he looks up at the sky, “Goodnight, lethallan.”

“Lethallin.” She watches as Solas makes his way to back to his tent, but not before he pauses and looks over his shoulder at her.

“Draconis is in excellent position tonight.”  
  


* * *

  
It is the early morning when Solas sees her – standing on top of a boulder with her bow at the ready.

Helis nocks an arrow – movements quick and sharp as the daggers she wields – and draws back with perfect form. She releases it, spearing the practice dummy she has set up at the other end of the frozen lake. Solas is impressed at her speed and accuracy, but Helis grunts as if she is unsatisfied with the shot. She tries again, this time taking a deep breath and releasing on an exhale.

Right in the forehead.

The sunlight stretches across the ice and warms him. “Impressive,” Solas smiles up at her, approaching her with his hands clasped behind his back. He notices she’s abandoned her armor and donned soft clothing: simple leggings and thick tunic.

Helis doesn’t make any move to show that she’s noticed him and instead lets another arrow fly. Clean through the throat. “Good morning.”

There is almost a pleasure in seeing how perfectly she draws her arm back, a completely straight line from her elbow to the tip of her arrow. Spine erect, her feet are planted so firmly that if the world were to shake, she would remain standing. She’s not only agile and graceful, but she is _strong_ , and there is so much beauty to be found in that. 

“May I ask something of you, Solas?” Helis drops her bow and turns and looks down at him.

“Certainly,” he replies, though he couldn’t guess at what she would ask.

“I was thinking on our conversation before…” she trails off, sitting so she can be at eye-level with him. “And I want to know more about the Fade.”

Solas’s brow rises in pleasant surprise. “Of course, da’len. What would you like to know?”

So she asks about what he's seen in the Fade, and she takes it all in as a pair of lungs would take in oxygen. She doesn’t listen absently like many do, but asks more questions. Just as she is eager to learn, Solas is eager to teach. He explains the dreamscapes, the echoes of memories that seep through the cracks, bloody wars and the rise of empires. He educates her on spirits and demons, and how the line blurs between the two, and it seems they discuss the subject for much longer than intended.

The metallic clash of swords and Cassandra’s voice – “Herald!” – can be heard behind them, and Solas chuckles as Helis attempts to shrink herself and hide behind him.

“It seems you have other duties to attend to,” he smiles.

Her expression becomes frustrated. “Unfortunately.”

And Solas laughs in response as Helis drops down in front of him. Tying her hair up with a blue ribbon she keeps around her wrist, she thanks him.

“I am always eager to speak of my studies.”

“Until next time, hahren.” She gives him a hopeful look, head tiled to one side.

“As you wish, da’len.”


	4. Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should probably say that there are a lot of events in the game that I'm going to twist a little to fit what Helis would do rather than what just happens generally in Inquisition. The plot will stay the same, outcomes all stay the same, but how Helis deals with them may be different than what's in the game. I'm bad at explaining things, but when you read you'll understand what I'm talking about. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

Solas catches Helis examining her mark. She runs a finger across it, flexing her hand and furrowing her brow as it grows brighter.

“How does it work?” she asks.

She sounds uncertain, and Solas cannot tell whether she is talking to herself, or to him. After a small pause, he answers, “Sadly, we know only one thing: the power in the mark can manipulate the Veil. It can tear it open and seal it shut, as you’ve demonstrated many times before.”

“But it isn’t regular magic,” she says, glancing up at him, and he can’t help but notice the snowflakes that have caught in her eyelashes.

“It depends on your definition of 'regular', but I'm assuming you mean the magic we commonly see today. The origin of the magic is unknown, and I’m unsure whether it can be duplicated.”

Helis closes her hand and gives him a small smile. “Interesting.” She waits a moment, eyes flickering to the ground before looking at him again with curiosity. “Why do you not have a clan, hahren? You could teach them so much.”

And Solas feels as if he could laugh. His tone is painted with disdain as he answers, “I would rather not.”

“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The Dalish have proven that they’re stubborn, and it’s that single-mindedness that causes them to live in ignorance.”

Helis crosses her arms and her ears twitch, pointed tips glowing bright red. “Those are my people you’re insulting.”

“Your people refuse to know the truth when I tried to teach them, threatened me when I wanted to show them a better way. I have walked the Fade and seen what elves were before the pitiful days of Halamshiral, and the Dalish reject it to cling to their false stories of Elven gods and twisted history.” His tone is bitter, but his face remains stoic.

“We live by what we have been taught: knowledge passed down from Keeper to Keeper. If I hadn’t witnessed your abilities before, I wouldn’t believe a word you told me.”

“And here I thought you were better than them.” Solas says this like it’s no more than a simple observation, but Helis clenches her jaw and huffs. She is fuming.

“I’m not,” she says. “I _am_ one of them. You judge my people so harshly for not succumbing to the fairytales of a stranger. I may not believe that praying to Andruil will make my hunt more fruitful, but Dalish blood runs through my veins. I will not apologize for my people. I will defend them until I die.”

She walks away, not another word spoken between them, and he is left pondering the guilt that bubbles in his gut.

* * *

The advisors believe it best to extend the Inquisition’s reach before any further decisions are made, so Cassandra suggests establishing more camps in the Hinterlands while the watchtowers are being built. The Inquisition may have horses and the refugees have another shelter, but there is still much to do to help this place heal.

It's early in the morning, but their food supply is dwindling faster than they anticipated. While they hunt rams for the refugees, they also hunt for themselves. The journey back to Haven is a grueling one, and the people here sorely need the food more than their company ever will. Hunting here isn’t like the forest though. The open fields are crawling with bandits, apostates, and rogue Templars, who are all more than willing to pick a fight with them, and the noise does nothing to draw out their prey. Having Varric and Cassandra along provides entertainment, at least. Varric is either telling stories or finding ways to annoy Cassandra, and both serve as relief for Helis.

And it’s in the middle of one of Varric’s famous stories – “I’m telling you, there were at least twenty dog lords in that alley!” – that the mark surges with energy. Ribbons of green light engulf her hand, and the moment she locates the rift, more demons have surrounded them than ever before. A demon made of fire erupts from the ground and charges towards Helis. She panics— what can wooden arrows and iron daggers do to _fire_?—but as it draws back its burning claws, it freezes.

“Kill it!” Solas cries over the roars of enemies, and Helis obeys. One sharp lunge of her blade and the frozen demon shatters to pieces on the ground.

Helis pulls back to her hunting mindset. Her arrows sing as they leave her bow and pierce the skull of their adversaries, but they are running low. There are too many demons. She needs to disrupt the rift, and there are so many demons in her way… Slinging her bow over her shoulder, Helis climbs the nearest tree just high enough so that she can leap to a tall boulder and get herself to another tree. She prays that she’s close enough as she holds out her hand and watches the rift react to her mark, twisting into itself and pulsing with energy.

A sharp cry pulls Helis’s attention elsewhere, and down below she can see that Cassandra has taken a blow to her right leg. Solas casts a barrier over her and fights as hard as he can to keep the demons at bay, and Varric shoots a storm of arrows as he shouts over the noise, “Where’s Swifty?”

It’s almost there, Helis can feel it. She watches as her companions struggle to fight off their enemies. Varric is running out of  bolts, Solas’s brow sweats and he casts his spells much less frequently, and Cassandra is too injured to do anything but clumsily shield herself from the incoming blows. With a heart-stopping pulse of energy, the rift disrupts and stuns the rest of the demons. Helis shoots from her perch above to help thin the crowd, and when the last one falls, she closes the rift.

“Are you hurt?” Helis runs over to where Cassandra is trying to stand, but her thigh is bloody and she is turning pale.

“What were you thinking!” Cassandra hisses, crying out in pain as Solas hurriedly wraps a bandage around her wound tightly.

“That should stop the bleeding for now. You still need medical attention,” Solas explains, supporting his wounded comrade.

“We were overrun by a group of demons and you just _left us,_ ” Cassandra yells, limping from Solas to Helis.

“There were too many to fight through!” Helis argues back, adrenaline replacing the blood in her veins. Her heart pounds as Cassandra stares her down in disapproval. “I had to disrupt it so that—“

“You should have waited! You should have told us so we could prepare!” she growls and goes to lunge forward, hand on the hilt of her sword. Varric quickly steps between them.

Helis backs up. “I’m sorry—“

“Your apologies won’t help my leg! We need to get back to Haven soon, and I cannot travel like this.” Cassandra grunts in frustration and limps off, refusing Solas’s help on their way back to camp.

“I’m sorry,” Helis whispers, stabbing her dagger into the nearest tree before sheathing it again.

Solas attempts to rest his hand on her shoulder in comfort, but she shrugs him off with an angry, “Don’t.”

Not even Varric dares to speak on the way back to camp.

* * *

Theories on the Fade are fascinating.

Solas particularly enjoys the speculation of the laws of nature in the Fade – something he has never taken into consideration before; but is Ephineas correct in that objects in the Fade couldn’t deviate from their purpose? Is this tied in with the idea that the purpose is bestowed upon these objects and that is reflected in the Fade _or_ could it be that the dreamer learns of these purposes that are then depicted in their dreamscape? A candle may light a dim room, but to the child that touched the flame, it’s a monster. Does this mean the candle remains a candle in the Fade, or is it shaped by the child’s image of it?

A sharp rap on the door pulls him back to reality. With eyebrow quirked, Solas opens the door to reveal a slightly worried-looking Varric. He scratches the back of his head nervously as he asks, “Hey Chuckles, you busy?”

“Not at the moment, child of the stone. What do you need?” Solas crosses his arms with head tilted downward to better see the dwarf.

“I think Swifty’s having some sort of crisis,” he replies. “She’s as skittish as a mouse in a room full of cats.”

A fitting analogy, Solas thinks.

“I tried talking to her, but she nearly cut my arm off. Maybe some elfy interaction will do her some good.” Varric sighs and runs a hand down his face.

“What would you have me do?” He takes into consideration the argument they had before and the offense he brought to her. He doubts she would want to see him.

“I don’t know – talk her down, sing her an elven lullaby for all I care. Just try to calm her down before she snaps, will you? I don’t particularly enjoy watching people slowly go insane.”

With Varric’s direction, Solas finds Helis in the hills across the lake. She’s traded her bow and arrows for daggers, and with a flick of her wrist, she sends them straight into the thick trunk of a tree with deep wounds riddled in its bark. He decides that it’s best to wait until she’s run out of weapons to throw at him, so he studies her movements from afar – the fluidity, the speed, and the precision all packaged into one motion. It is… pleasing to watch.

“Aneth ara, Solas.” Her last dagger flies. “You aren’t as stealthy as you think you are.”

“Apologies. I didn’t want to startle you,” he replies, making his way to her side. “I came to see how you were.”

“I’m fine. I’m just… pondering.” She sighs, pulling the ribbon from her hair and letting the deep brown waves pour over her shoulders. She wraps the sapphire-colored fabric around her knuckles and asks, “Did Varric tell you I pulled a dagger on him?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he grins, examining the designs scorched into her leather greaves.

“Damn dwarf shouldn’t have snuck up on me, then.” Helis allows a flicker of a smile pass over her face. She pulls at a stray strand of fabric on her cowl.

“I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t also concerned. You carry a heavy burden, lethallan, and most would not endure it as long as you have.”

She frowns and retrieves her blades, simply tucking them in her belt. It’s a long moment before she replies, “Our new allies dislike me. They find it insulting that I didn’t approach them personally. Sera in particular had a few choice words for me, though I didn’t know what half of them meant. They didn’t come to meet me face-to-face; I don’t think I was wrong in sending messengers in my stead.” Her expression is distraught verging on fearful as she continues, “Solas. You’ve spent more time with them; maybe you can help me understand. Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana – all more suited to make these decisions than I. They have experience, skills, and knowledge that surpass my own.”

“I believe you once said that people cling to whatever brings them hope. What if that is you?” Solas motions for her to accompany him back to camp, and after a moment of hesitation, she falls in line with his slow steps. “A Veil tears across the sky and threatens to rip the world apart, but you fall from a rift with the ability to close them. For people of faith, you are more than a Dalish elf. You are their divine intervention, a gift from Andraste herself, and who better to turn to than her Herald?”

“And if I make the wrong choice they’ll have my head.” Helis comes to a halt when the walls of Haven come into view. She fiddles with the cowl that wraps around her shoulders. “They certainly look at me as if they will.”

“I refuse to believe that anything in life is that clear-cut. With valid reasoning, any decision can be considered right or wrong. Just be certain that whatever you choose, you are confident in your choice and are ready to live with the consequences.” 

“That isn’t very comforting,” she frowns.

“It isn’t meant to be,” he smiles. Solas places a hand on the small of her back, coaxing her into walking again. Her tense muscles relax and she allows the gentle guidance up until the Chantry doors. He frowns, “What I said about your people… that was unworthy of me.”

“Yes, it was,” she replies sharply.

“I am sorry,” he says, head slightly bowed.

Helis says nothing. The corners of her mouth twitch downward before she heaves a sigh and pushes through the Chantry doors.

* * *

Helis thought she was ready to live with the consequences of her actions, but now she is uncertain.   

The Templars seemed the more reasonable choice. If Solas could stabilize her by leeching magic from her mark, could the same not be said about the Breach? Pouring more magic into it could cause irreparable damage, but then again… no. Cullen seemed certain in his former colleagues’ abilities and her logic was sound. But when she arrived to ask for help, things were not as they seemed and those who were supposed to be protecting the world from harmful magic were either victims or serving it. The envy demon is gone, but they are leaderless and lost, and the Inquisition needs them immediately.

Now she stands before them as they await her orders. They want her to make a decision; so she does.

The Templars are to disband and become knights of the Inquisition.

When they return to Haven, Cullen can barely look at Helis without gritting his teeth. Josephine isn’t entirely happy either, and Cassandra sports a disappointed expression on her face for the rest of the day. It seems the only one that approves of her decision is Sera, who can’t say enough about the Dalish. What does ‘too elfy’ mean anyways?

“They are merely frustrated. They wish that you had consulted them first before making such an important decision,” Solas explains, holding her hand in his and engulfing it in a cool, white light. More often than not, the pain of the mark can be ignored, but tonight it feels as if lightning is angrily shooting up her arm. “May I ask why you are so worried?”

“If a horse leads its master astray, it gets whipped,” she answers, focusing on the sound of the fireplace crackling.

“But the master still needs the horse to make it to his destination.” Solas rests her hand back in her lap and gives her a thoughtful look. The fireplace washes them in warmth and color – brilliant shades of orange and yellow.

“The horse will still be whipped.” Helis leans an elbow on his desk and rests her cheek upon her knuckles.

“You are not a horse.” 


End file.
